When NCIS Gets Wings
by Jutuvestija
Summary: A bird mutant, much like Max, has been living on the streets when a Marine lends a helping hand. The School strikes at him, involving our favorite NCIS team. Will they find out about her wings? Even more important, will they be able to accept them?
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so this is my first crossover-I hope I can pull it off… By the way, this isn't about Max- the surly attitude belongs to another bird-kid. **

**Chapter 1- **Thank Goodness for Marines

Do you have any idea how many times a stomach can growl in two minutes? The answer is forty, in case you were wondering. That is, if we're talking a mostly human stomach, with a little bit of avian DNA thrown in. Oh, and a stomach that hasn't known a meal of any substance in a month. That's my poor, poor stomach.

I was walking briskly down the sidewalk, my shoulders hunched up as far as they would go, trying to ignore the freezing rain droplets sliding down the back of my neck. My short hair was drenched, swirling around my head in the angry wind whistling up and down the street. In the distance I could see the glowing white dome the US capitol shining in the twilight. I needed to find some place to get food and sleep; hopefully somewhere where I could get out of the rain.

I know what you are thinking, "Why on earth isn't she flying?" Well I'll tell you. First, the wind kicked up by the stupid storm would have smashed me into the nearest building. Second, I was so unbelievably exhausted, I could barley see straight and keep my normally sure footing on the sleek concrete; so there was really no way I could have flown in those conditions.

I was passing by a brightly lit restaurant when the wind really picked up. The heavenly scent of steaming steak and baked potatoes wafted out the open doorway, making my mouth water uncontrollably. My stomach growled again, (make that forty-one times). I stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk and inhaled the sweet aroma of food. Boy was I hungry. People passed and gave no notice of me. A minute later, some guy talking on a cell phone knocked into me, and I lost my footing. The wind was worse than ever, and the thickening rain made the sidewalk terrible to walk on. My feet slid out from under me, and I went down. Before I hit the pavement, a pair of strong arms caught me from behind. They supported me until I regained control of my feet. I stood up and turned around, a guy who looked to be in his early twenties was straightening a military uniform. On his collar was a logo that depicted the globe with an anchor and some bird behind it. He held out his hand.

"Glenn Stapley." he said.

I reluctantly shook his hand. This guy didn't look like full-blown eraser material, but you can never be too sure. Yes, I am that paranoid. I lived in a dog crate for fifteen years, and now on the streets for two. You can't really blame me. I mean this is the School we're talking about here.

"Thank you…you know, for catching me." I said awkwardly. In case you hadn't guessed, I'm not that good around people. It was still raining, and I was anxious to get going.

Glenn looked at my tangled hair, and less-than-pristine appearance.

"Do you have a place to stay?" He asked.

"Not really, but-"

"Come on." He said, "You can stay at my place, in the guest room." He held out his hand. Now, looking back, it was probably a really stupid thing to do, and I knew it, but the thought of actually sleeping in a bed was to irresistible. I didn't take his hand, walked along side him. We hurried through the rain, and arrived at an apartment building.

"So are you in the military or something?" I asked as he held the door open.

"I'm a Marine, or something." Glenn replied. He walked over to an elevator and pressed the up button. When the doors opened, I hesitated. Tight spaces are not my thing; I think it has something to do with being part bird. Have you ever seen a wild bird when it gets trapped in a room? It freaks out.

"Um, you know what? I think I'm going to take the stairs." I said, stepping backwards and pointing toward the door marked "stairs". I turned around, but didn't get very far. My three days without food or sleep got to me, and I got really dizzy and fell right down on the cold tiled floor.

"Whoa, are you okay?" I heard distantly, along with rapid, echoing footsteps. As fast as it came, the vertigo was gone, and I sat up. My body felt all clammy and everything sound louder than it normally did.

"Sorry, I need to find some food." I mumbled.

"Come on," The marine said, "I know a place."


	2. Italian Food and Erasers

**Thanks to my reviewers! **

**Chapter 2- **Italian Food and Erasers

"You've never been to an Olive Garden before?" The Marine asked, holding open the restaurant's door. "Italian food is the best." The rain had finally let up, and we walked a sort distance to what Glenn insisted was the greatest restaurant since the beginning of time. I stepped into the expensive-looking eatery, and tried not to drip all over the place. (This was impossible, by the way, because I was thoroughly soaked.) I instantly scanned for possible escape routes. Not a lot in the entryway, besides the door, but I spotted windows further inside.

"Good evening, table for two?" A petite little waitress with red hair greeted us, grabbing a couple of menus.

"Yes." Glenn said, and we followed her back, through a couple archways, to a table by a big window. This was good, even though I tried to avoid breaking through glass if I could. Leaving my blood places was not wise. I'd learned that the hard way.

I sat down and opened a menu. All the entrée descriptions were making my stomach growl again, and the smell was intoxicating.

"Can I start you two off with anything to drink?"

"Yes, I'd like a Pepsi, thanks."

I glanced up at the server's expectant expression.

"Oh, uh, a lemonade please." I said, remembering to include a "please" at the last moment. Wouldn't want people to think the mutant bird girl had no manners.

"What do you think? See anything good?" I heard from behind the menu across the table as the waitress walked away and I buried myself in my menu again. "My personal favorite is the Chicken Alfredo."

I didn't care much for poultry-for obvious reasons-but when you live like I have, you can't afford to be picky. A couple of minutes later, our server materialized by the table, and asked if we were ready to order. The Marine stated his choice, and the waitress scribbled stuff down on a little notepad. Then she turned to me.

"Um, can I have the spaghetti, Alfredo, stuffed ravioli, and some more salad and breadsticks?" I'd already devoured the ones set out earlier.

"Sure thing," our server said automatically, and then frowned, tucking a lock of hair behind an ear. "You know, this is quite a lot of food and-"

"Trust me, I can eat it." I interrupted.

"Okay," she replied disbelievingly, gathered the menus, and shuffled over to an adjacent table. I glanced out the window, scanning for trouble.

"Are you sure you can eat all that?"

I reluctantly turned back around to face Stapley. This is why I preferred to steal food; no one was there to question my enormous appetite. It's not like I ever got my fill stealing though.

"Yup." I said, and turned back to face the window. Then I froze. It's not like I was an expert on handsome guys, but I've learned how to spot Erasers over the years. Out in the parking lot, were too incredibly good-looking men, scanning the lot. There was no mistake about it, I'd been found.

I could feel adrenaline heightening my senses, but tried to keep my breathing and heart rate under control. These particular Erasers weren't familiar, and there was a slim, (slimmest as can be- virtually nonexistent) chance that they didn't know what I looked like. I dared not hope, but it wouldn't hurt if I tried to look like I wasn't about to have an episode.

"Are you okay?" The Marine asked. Looks like I'd failed that one.

"Uh, yeah." I replied, "I just need a moment." I stood up and tried not to sprint back to the restaurant entrance. I'd never really been one to panic, but I somehow felt responsible for Glenn. I wasn't used to having to what out for someone else; it had normally just been me, myself, and I. I needed to draw the Erasers away from the Olive Garden, and hopefully get away after that.

The only person in the entryway was a short, light-haired waiter, dropping menus on the wooden podium. No Erasers. At the moment, I couldn't decide whether this was good or bad. Then I realized that I'd left The Marine totally unprotected. Not to brag, but I'd done my fair share of Eraser bashing, and I didn't think they taught that at boot camp.

This time I _did_ sprint back to the table, other customers giving me looks. I couldn't have cared less. When I reached the table, I instantly spun around and ran back toward the exit.

There had been no one at the table.

I wasn't about to entertain the idea that he'd gone to the restroom. That was a stupid hope, and coincidences like that just didn't happen to me.

I blasted out the doors into the cool, slightly-humid, night air…and right into an Eraser. I tried to jump back, but he locked his muscular arms tight around me and held me fast. He smelled bad, like he needed a serious shower. I probably didn't smell so hot either, but I had a better excuse. I wiggled with all the wiggling ability I had, but it was no use. I wasn't going anywhere.

"You've caused quite a bit of trouble for the School, little birdie." He said into my ear. Okay, I really could've gone without the corny reference to my significantly less-than-normal DNA.

"Yeah, very original." I grunted, and jammed my heel down as hard as I could on the Eraser's foot. He didn't loosen his hold, but lost his footing. Before he could regain it, I threw all my weight forward, and flipped him over my head, smacking the mutant on the concrete. Now that I was free, I turned and sprinted in the opposite direction.

Sure, I felt bad about the Erasers snatching the guy who was only being kind to me, but there was absolutely no way I was going back to the School. Besides, they had no interest in full-grown Marines, and chances are they wouldn't kill him, why would they? There was no doubt about it though; his life would be trashed once they were through with him. (Example A speaking here.) As much as I wanted to kick it in gear and tear out of D.C., and hopefully get off the School's radar, I couldn't bring myself to just run away.

I'll admit, I was many things, including a food thief, but I was not a coward, and the School was not going to get away with this.

I could hear approaching footsteps, and took a sharp turn to the right. As quickly as I could, I started to scale the wet wall of the building beside me. Being a kid with wings, I don't do a ton of climbing unless there are witnesses around. Obviously, taking flight at that point would have given me away. I hauled myself up the slick, brick surface, with the help of a drainage pipe. Once halfway up, I turned and looked down. Through the gloom, I could see the Eraser jogging through the alleyway. He continued on, and I resumed climbing. It was chilly up on the roof, and I ran to the other side, wanting to get a birds-eye view of where I was going to be spending to the next month or two of my life. The building was much taller than its neighbors, and provided a wide view of the city.

I scanned the skyline, instantly picking out the Capitol, The Washington Monument, and The White House. I spent to next ten minutes creating a mental map of Washington D.C., and refining a rough plan. This was the first time I'd actually had a plan, and specific goal, aside from the time I broke out of the School. I liked having something to work toward again. After double-checking exactly where the closest payphone was, I scanned the ground below and circled outward, looking for any sign of my pursuers. As far as I could see, they were gone, but it was best no to take any more chances. After half climbing, half falling back to the ground, I turned north.

A few minutes later I reached the pay phone outside a convenience store. As I'd hoped, a phone book was hanging below the phone's housing; I grabbed it and flipped to the business section, searching for an internet café. I quickly found one and memorized the address. I needed a map and I knew it. Searching for a solution, I glanced up and smiled, an idea forming in my mind. Across the pavement, by a gas pump, sat an unattended car. I know what you're thinking, and no, I didn't steal it. Come on people, give me a break.

I jogged over to the white sedan and stood between it and the pump. For couple minutes I waited for the next victim of my ten-second con. I ran my fingers through my hair, sort of detangling it, and tried to clean my face. Satisfied with my reflection in the passenger-side window of the car, I straightened up as a really shiny and expensive looking car pulled up to the adjacent pump. Perfect. (And for once I'm not being sarcastic.)

A middle-aged man emerged and walked over to the pump. He looked to be about thirty-six or thirty-seven, with sort, brown hair combed back from his face. He was medium build and height, and not altogether bad looking. I turned back to my pump and shoved my hands in my pockets, then took then out hastily and shoved them in my back pockets, repeating the process. I searched through my jacket pockets as though looking for something.

"Oh man, you've _got _to be kidding me!" I said a little loudly in the man's direction. He glanced up with brown eyes. "Jeez, I could have sworn I had some cash leaving practice. Ugh." I continued. The man took a step in my direction,

"Uh, Ma'am? Are you all right?" He called. Good, I had his attention, if I could just play this right I might be able to pull it off. I turned to him.

"Oh, sorry-I-uh, yeah, actually no. I knew, _knew_ I had some cash with me, but I, of course, I can't find it now." I said with a "You-know-how-it –is" expression, turning to the car and leaning on it, with my arms on the hood.

"Are you in need of a lot?" He answered, and walked over. I turned to him again.

"No, just enough for gas to get me to the hospital. You see, my older sister was in an accident, and I just got the call at tennis practice. Of course, my car chose now to run out of gas, when I don't have any money. But, I couldn't accept-"

"Hey, no big deal," He said with a charming smile. "I can spare ten bucks." He pulled a couple bills out of his wallet. "Was it that accident down south? On the freeway?" He asked. I didn't know if was testing me, to make sure I wasn't scamming him, which I was. I decided to play it safe.

"I'm not sure, as soon as I heard 'sister', 'accident', and 'hospital', all in the same sentence, I was on my way. I didn't wait for details." The man looked down at his watch.

"You had Tennis practice at eleven 'o clock at night?" He said disbelievingly. My brain backpedaled, searching for an excuse for the late hour. I hadn't realized it was so late, and forgot to take that into consideration in my story. Suddenly, an idea occurred to me.

"Earlier this afternoon, my school's two tennis teams took a bus over to Philadelphia, for a game. The game was scheduled to start at eight, and lasted an hour and a half. By the time we drove back to school, it was ten-thirty." He nodded, and put the green bills into my hand.

"Hope your sister is okay."

"Thank you Mister…"

"DiNozzo. Anthony DiNozzo."

**Muhahahahahahaha!!!!!!! And this is where I leave you hanging. Call me evil, and think annoyed thoughts at me, but they will all disappear once you read chapter 3! I hope you all had as much fun reading this chapter as I did writing it. :]**


	3. NightyNight

** Hello dearest readers! I'm so sorry I haven't updated in an eternity-I had no idea my summer would be so busy!**

**Chapter 3- **Nighty-night

After thanking Mr. DiNozzo and hurrying across the parking lot, I cautiously entered the convenience store, careful to keep my face angled away from the two security cameras. At the checkout counter there were several road atlases for the DC metropolitan area, and a stack of travel maps. I grabbed a travel map and glanced around the small store, something I did out of habit. There was one other person, filling a big plastic cup with soda. I had ten dollars, a few could go towards something to eat-I'd never gotten my food at the restaurant, what with Marines getting kidnapped and all.

A sack of shelled peanuts caught my attention, and I snatched them off the shelf, and walked back to the counter, giving the soda guy a wide berth. Trusting people is not my forte, okay? It's not hard to guess why; going to that Olive Garden with a total stranger was really out of character for me.

"That all?" A bored-looking, unshaven cashier asked, stifling a yawn as I placed my map and peanuts on the counter. His breath smelled like onions and pickles-not a good combination. I nodded, keeping my head down. He reached for the merchandise and rang me up.

"That's going to be six-seventy-five." He said. I handed him the money, grabbed my new belongings and exited the store. Tony DiNozzo was gone, thankfully. I would do it if I absolutely had to, but I wanted to avoid stealing cars at this point. He wouldn't have bought my story if I hadn't sped off to see my dying sister.

I needed to get back to the Marine's apartment, but not going backwards the way I'd come. The erasers may have still been hanging out at the Olive Garden.

I checked my map, and quickly decided on an alternate route, circling back to Stapley's apartment, which was across the street form in internet café. It was approximately 11:30, so the doors were unlocked, all the lobby lights still on. On the right side was a chestnut counter, with a twenty-something-looking man behind it. The wall behind him was sectioned off into little cubbies, each labeled with a number. Some had envelopes and papers in them, others were empty. I walked over to the mail counter and cleared my throat. The man looked up from a book he'd been reading, an expression of annoyance on his face. After a split second it disappeared, and he stood up straight.

"Yes, may I help you?" He asked, flashing what he thought must have been a dazzling smile.

"Yes, can you tell me which apartment is Glenn Stapley's?" I asked, flashing a smile of my own. I didn't think he'd tell me, but it was worth a shot. His smile faltered.

"No," His goofy grin returned, "But I can tell you mine." He said, leaning across the counter, resting on one arm.

"Um, no thanks. Can you give this message to him?" I said, not missing a beat. I grabbed a pen and the pad of paper on the counter and quickly wrote down some random numbers to look like a phone number. I held it out to the man.

"Yeah," He said, the smile gone for good. I was waiting for him to turn and put it in a cubby, but he didn't move.

For a guy with a ridiculous smile, he was smart. I turned and walked away, angling toward the doors. I watched the counter-guy in the big window across from him. It reflected everything in the room almost perfectly. The man turned around and inserted my paper into a cubby labeled 10C. I continued out the front doors and turned left. Another breeze had picked up, but not as strong as before. It was only raining lightly now, I could hear the relaxing patter of it on the rooftops and side walk. After circling around the building several times I decided how to best break in. I couldn't go back through the lobby, and I didn't want to destroy the superintendent's door. I certainly could, if I wished. Along with all the bird bonuses, I had heightened strength, speed, and stamina. Who needs to pick locks when you can just break the lock in half? However, I didn't want to leave to much evidence of my presence here, so I decided I would just break through the window. The Marine's apartment was on the third floor, I knew that much, but I didn't know which window was his. I remembered noticing a buzzer outside the door. Luckily, the apartment building was thin; from outside the front doors I could see the walls of the adjacent buildings. I hoped that the buzzer had a visual notification as well as an audio one. After the rain, the walls of the neighboring buildings were slick and wet. If the buzzer unit was in view of the window, I might be able to see the reflected blinking of a light or something. It was a long shot, but I only had so many options to work with. I hurried around to the front and found the buzzer, carful not to let the mail guy see me. I didn't want to cause any suspicions, especially because law enforcement was sure to get involved at some point, and it would slow me down if I had to run from them too. I figured I had a few days before they caught up.

I pressed a little black button and a list of apartment numbers materialized on a small screen. After selecting 10C I held down the button and scanned the closest buildings for any flashing lights. I held the button down for a while, but didn't see anything. I was about to give up and think up a plan B when a diluted, bluish glow caught on the wet, right-side wall. I memorized exactly where the spot appeared and hurried around the building. Once I located the appropriate window, I glanced around. No one in sight. There was an ancient-looking fire escape above me, and it led right to the window I needed. I jumped and hoisted myself up the ladder to the first platform. I took a couple steps and stopped as the old, wet metal clanked and rattled. Stepping as lightly as possible, I made my way up several flights of stairs until I reached the correct level. I crept to the window, peered in, and groaned. Inside the apartment, a rather rotund woman was spread out on a couch watching TV. That had been the light I saw on the wall. Feeling about as smart as a paperclip, I backed away from the window and leaned against the outside rail of the fire escape, it groaned a bit, bit held my full, 90 lb. weight. Being light as a feather had its perks, I suppose. Get it? Light as a feather? You know, 'cause I'm a- forget it.

I racked my brain for another idea, considering forgetting the apartment and look for leads elsewhere, when I glanced at the darkened window across from me. My bird-eyes had no trouble picking out the outlines of a dresser, mirror, and bed, with a white military cap sitting on top. I stepped closer to the window, distinguishing the same globe symbol on the cap that I noticed on the Marine's uniform.

What were the chances of another Marine living in the same apartment building, on the same floor, off a naval base? Very slim. I liked those odds.

I padded over to the window and placed my hand flat on the glass, fingers spread. Being a human/avian hybrid, I'm not the most normal person to walk the streets of Washington, that being said, there are some of us (mutants) who possess…extra abilities. No doubt you've noticed. Mine is pretty cool, even if I do say so myself. Basically, I can raise or lower my body temperature at will, without any ill effects on myself. Additionally, by having physical contact with something, I can change the temperature of that too. Here is the cool part, I'm not changing the temperature by transferring heat, (which is how it normally works), I can just make it change. So it works faster because I don't have to _transfer_ heat, that said, it would still take time to make a drastic change. I have to take into account the size of something too. The bigger the object, the longer it takes for the whole thing to reach the desired temperature. I don't know the limits as far as the temperature range, but it's pretty darn big.

So it comes in pretty handy when you want to break into an apartment without breaking a window.

I kept my hand against the glass and focused on the window. As the temperature climbed, I kept still. After a minute or so, the glass became softer. I pressed my hand in harder. After about ten minutes, I'd melted a large piece of the bottom-left corner of the glass just enough so that I could manipulate it. It glowed bright yellow in the dark, yet the glass didn't burn my hands. Somehow, I've neverburned by the things I've heated.

There's a catch, once I stop maintaining the temperature, the glass will drop back to its original temperature. Moving quickly, I maneuvered the sheet of glass out of the window frame, and then carefully folded it back. I hurriedly crawled through the opening and silently landed on the worn carpeting below. Turning back toward the window, I reached out and grabbed the corner and pulled it back down. I could feel it glass stiffening as it cooled. If I didn't hurry it would splinter. After deftly jamming the edges back into the frame and smoothing out any creases, I pressed my hand against it again and returned the glass to its former temperature. Other than a little warping in the corner, there was no sign the glass had been half-melted, bent, bent back, then cooled, all in a fifteen minute process.

Reluctant to turn on lights, I explored the Marine's home in the darkness. Several letters addressed to Glenn Stapley on the kitchen counter confirmed I had the right apartment. I searched the apartment top to bottom, looking for any details I could find about the Marine's life. I was carful not to touch anything unless necessary. I may have been raised in a science lab, but I wasn't an idiot. I knew how fingerprints worked. Doubtless, the police would sweep for prints when they responded to a missing persons call. There was no way my prints were in any databases, except maybe the school's, and I wanted to keep it that way.

In the living room, a laptop rested on a light-colored, wood desk. I crossed over to it and sat down in the office chair in front. Pulling my sleeves up over my hands, I opened and powered up the computer. Thankfully, I didn't need a password to gain entry, and was soon searching the web history and all of the recently edited documents. As I was closing the window for a take-out restaurant, I heard approaching footsteps in the outside corridor. They stopped outside the door, and I heard a key in the lock. I quickly powered down the computer, and vaulted out of the chair just as the door inched open. I slid into an especially dark shadow near the entrance to the kitchen. I could see a medium built young man, several years younger than the Marine, but with the same extremely light hair emerge from the doorway. While his back was turned, I quickly reached out and steadied the turning office chair, then snapped back into my hiding spot. He closed the door and set a duffle bag on the floor, tossing a set of keys onto a small table in the entryway. He slumped into the kitchen, passing within inches of me. I held my breath and tried to make my heart stop pounding so loud.

I glanced at the microwave above the stove. The glowing green display indicated that it was twelve-forty-two. The man removed something from around his neck and set it on the counter. The ID read "Mark Stapley". So they were brothers sharing an apartment. Mark exited the kitchen and disappeared down a small hallway, into one of the bedrooms. He came back moment later, looking confused.

"Glenn?" He asked. "Hey, Glenn, you home?" He called softly.

I wanted to shout at him that Glenn was not home, and was probably stuffed in the back of some van or something, because of me. But I just stood stock-still in my corner, eternally grateful that my jacket was black. Mark crossed the kitchen to the far wall, where a wall-mounted, wireless phone stood. He picked up the hand set and rapidly punched seven of the glowing buttons with his thumb. 919-4100. I mentally cataloged the number away. He pressed the phone to his ear, turning in a small circle in the middle of the white linoleum floor. I heard the line connect after four rings and a recording of the Marine's voice. Mark hung up without leaving a message and slapped the phone back into it's station.

"He must've let it die again." I heard Mark mutter to himself as he grabbed a pencil and a random sheet of paper off the small kitchen table and wrote something on it. He left it there, walked back to the door, grabbed his bag, ID, and keys and left. I stayed in my shadow for a couple minutes after he was gone to be sure he wouldn't come back for something he'd forgotten. After five minutes of silence and a perfectly still apartment, I felt myself starting to doze off. Not good. I shook myself awake and moved into the kitchen, stopping at the table. The hand-written note was almost illegible, but I was able to make most of it out.

_Hey, it's 12:55, not sure where you are bro._

_Anyway, I've gone to Matt's for the night, he wants to have a Call of Duty tournament or something, says you're invited if you feel up to it._

_ Mark_

_P.S. Your phone is like a brain cell, it's useless when dead. _

It seemed the apartment was mine for the night. Yes. There were three things I needed right then. Food, sleep, and…a shower.

_Hmmm, a shower._ I mused as I yanked open the refrigerator doorand scanned the contents. Oooh, lunch meat, a rare delicacy for the half-starved avian hybrids of the world. After gorging myself on the entire package of deli-shaved ham, my peanuts from the gas station, four apples, and a box of granola bars, I locked the front door again, and found the bathroom. It was a small, white room, and very clean. My grungy, dirty clothes looked pathetic lying there on the gleaming countertop. I spent fifteen minutes marveling at the wonder of hot water and soap. I carefully preened my wings, picking loose feathers and fluff out until they were neat and gleaming. It felt amazing to stretch my wings out, loosening my powerful back muscles. I could have stayed in there forever, but I didn't want to leave Mark, and hopefully Glenn with a huge water bill at the end of the month.

Now that I was blissfully clean, I didn't want to put my filthy clothes back on, so wrapped in a towel, I found a gray Marines T-shirt in the closet of the master bedroom. The back said, "Pain is weakness leaving the body."

_Ain't that the truth. _I thought sullenly.

I ran a bath and soaked my clothes in it, scrubbing them as clean as possible, then hanging them to dry on the curtain rod overnight.

It would have felt weird to the sleep in the bed, so I grabbed a blanket and pillow and made a nest on the sofa in the living room. It's kind of a joke between me, myself, and I, I call wherever I end up sleeping a nest. The soft cushions felt heavenly as I plummeted into a deep sleep.

Outside in the cool night, a non-descript white van with no back widows sat in front of an internet café. Inside three men sat, well two of them sat, the third lay on the floor, bound at the wrists and ankles, a gag in his mouth. He was unconscious at the moment, thankfully. He had a nasty bump on his head that would have been quite painful had he been awake.

"Are you sure? If we involve the authorities, it'll only make it harder to catch her." One of the incredibly good-looking men said.

"Think about it," The other replied, "It'll slow her down too, and make our job a bit easier."

"Whatever you say." The first said dismissively as his comrade lifted a cell phone to his ear.

"Yes, police?" He said when the line connected. "I'd like to report a missing person. Yes I'll hold."

Several miles away, minutes later, in the NCIS building in Washington DC, a red light on Special Agent Gibb's answering machine blinked to life.


	4. Close Call

**Chapter 4- Close Call**

A few thin rays of yellow sunlight defiantly streamed from an otherwise unbroken cloud cover that stretched over DC, muting the light that reached the NCIS squad room. Among papers rustling, drawers closing, and telephones ringing, the elevator dinged and admitted a chipper McGee, who strode into the middle of a typical morning bickering session between Tony and Ziva. He also tripped over a backpack lying forlornly on the carpet between the two desks. After narrowly avoiding a faceplant he aimed a glare at Tony, all chipperness gone.

"See Ziva?" Tony said, not looking at either of them. "now McGonkers is gonna move the backpack cause that's what nice little boys do."

"Don't you dare touch that bag," Ziva hissed at McGee, who'd bent to pick up the bag in question. He froze, as was the proper response when told not to do something by Ziva, he'd learned. "Leave it," she continued.

McGee gave both of them a weird look but left the backpack, slowly walking to his desk and sitting. He settled in with his coffee to watch the argument unfold.

"Fine," Tony said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his hands behind his head. "But you're taking the fall when Gibbs trips over it."

McGee continued to customarily huff over his coffee in the following silence, earning a look from the senior field agent.

"Knock it off, Probie. You sound like you're in labor over there."

"Your backpack, your problem. Gibbs is more likely to take my word over yours anyway." Ziva spoke, ignoring Tony's comment to McGee.

"Oh, well we'll just see about that, Ziva."

"See about what, exactly?" McGee asked.

"Tony is too lazy to pick up his own backpack and is convinced someone else will take care of it, because that is, apparently, what people do. I disagree."

"And you're also wrong, besides, Gibbs won't care." Tony interrupted.

Before Ziva could retort the aforementioned grey-haired investigator strode into the squad room. Well, he strode until he tripped over DiNozzo's backpack, barely keeping his balance and a hold on his coffee cup.

"DiNozzo," he barked, continuing to his desk. "what is your bag doing on the floor?"

"Social experiment boss. Ziva failed."

"Get it and gas up the truck. We have a missing Marine." The boss ordered, retrieving his own equipment. "Let's go."

Ziva and McGee collected their things and headed towards the elevator, a small smile on both their faces.

-Nia-

A small thud woke me from my slumber and I sat up quickly, my unruly hair forming a messy halo around my head. It was a car door. I launched myself off the couch, scattering loose feathers that floated slowly back to the floor. Stopping with my back against the wall by the window, I glanced sideways through to the street. A big truck was parked in front of the apartment building, with three men and a woman in black windbreakers milling about it. I watched as they closed up the vehicle and headed toward the entrance. With the older one it was harder to tell, but the blonde one I was sure about. Everything about him screamed cop. Then a brown haired one walked into my field of vision. It was the guy from the gas station, Tony DiNozzo. Interesting. He too, had law enforcement written all over him, though less overtly than his coworker. But the woman was different. Obviously, she was with the Feds, but the way she carried herself reminded me of my training back at the school. She was an assassin; Mossad, by the looks of it. So what was a Mossad assassin doing with these guys. I filed this away to puzzle over later and took a closer look at the truck. The letters NCIS were blazoned across the side in big bold letters. Navy cops. I probably had only a few minutes before they made it up here.

Biting back a swear word, I whirled into action, silently flitting around the apartment, cleaning up any traces of myself. I took care of hair and feathers first. A pair of gloves I found in the closet helped me leave no prints as I put my collections in a ziplock bag. The floor, the couch, the blankets, the shower drain. I changed back into my jeans, t-shirt, and jacket and wrapped the plastic bag, and Marines t-shirt into the blankets and stuffed the bundle in my backpack. In record time I wiped the entire apartment clean of prints, including the mittens and replaced them in the closet. I was closing the bedroom window behind me as the navy cops were let in the door. I briefly had eye contact with the grey-haired one, but had already scaled the brick wall and was safely across the roof before he'd crossed the room. The window opened and I heard the investigator give orders to his subordinates. By the time they reached the roof, I'd be in the air, and long gone.

Flimsy crime scene tape wiggled across the door frame as the special agents processed the scene. McGee stood outside the apartment with the Marine's brother and roommate. Inside the apartment, Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva scoured the rooms but couldn't find any prints whatsoever.

"Someone was here," Ziva said.

"My money's on the chick outside the window," Tony piped up, stowing the print kit.

The interviews weren't very forthcoming either, as far as anyone knew, Glenn didn't have any enemies, and those who were interviewed where at a loss for what happened.

"The last the brother saw him was yesterday afternoon, for lunch. No one's seen him since. Apparently, he was headed downtown, but no one knows exactly where," McGee reported, as Gibbs peered at the window he'd seen the young lady through. He scribbled down a description on his notepad and waved Ziva over.

"Make sure you get this," he ordered, pointing at a strange warping in the corner. Ziva obediently snapped a few photos from several angles. DiNozzo walked into the bedroom, stowing his own notepad.

"Nothing in the bathroom either," he started. "even the drains were clean."

Gibbs stopped pawing through dresser drawers and paused. Tony noticed.

"What's up, Boss?" he asked as Gibbs brushed past him out of the bedroom.

"The brother still here?" the former sniper called.

Mark paused as he heard his name called down the hallway. He turned to see one of the investigators start toward him.

"Do you or your brother clean your drains regularly?"

Mark frowned at the odd question. "Not really, unless they're backed up or something."

"Had either of you done so recently?"

"No, not that I know of."

Gibbs thanked the young man and re-entered the apartment.

-Nia-

Dang it.

I'd gotten sloppy and they'd seen me. Back at the school I would've been beaten for a screw up like that. Assuming they were thorough, the cops would probably find the clean drains, though that could easily be written off as general cleanliness. The warping on the window would be less explainable, assuming they could puzzle out how that came to be.

I smiled to the sidewalk I trudging along, being careful not to bump into anyone else walking the street. That had happened once, back when I was freshly escaped. I'd tripped into just a random passerby and they'd somehow felt my wings through my jacket. But I had disappeared into the crowd before they could raise a scene. I couldn't imagine what they thought they were-what were the odds that some unremarkable-looking girl walking down the street had wings sprouting out of her back? Crazy.

The science fiction nature of my existence was my disguise.

I wondered if the NCIS people would take the window with them. It was the only lead I'd left them with. Of course, they wouldn't find anything on it. Even so, I redoubled my pace, trying with all might to look like a normal young lady taking a morning stroll around downtown DC.

Gibbs went back to the bedroom while his team wrapped up at the scene. He stared at the window as if the girl he saw out of it would appear. Dark hair, dark eyes, tan skin,slight build. She looked smart. On a hunch, he opened it and carefully climbed out onto the rickety fire escape, his gray hair blowing in the breeze. Grey light from the clouds bathed the alleyway below as he turned and crouched in front of the warped corner of the window.

"McGee!" He called.

The summoned agent stuck his head out the window. "Yeah, boss?"

"Get the landlord. I want this window."

** Hi beloved readers! If you care to review, guess what happens next. I'm curious to know what you're thinking, cause I was cryptic on purpose. Any feedback is much appreciated and I hope you enjoyed it.**

** -Jutuvestija**


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